


A Serious Study in WILFs

by tuesdaymidnight



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crack, Emotionally Constipated Derek, Fluff, M/M, WILFs, post s3a, stiles is an emissary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 22:22:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaymidnight/pseuds/tuesdaymidnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia coins the term WILF. When she and the rest of the pack find out that Derek is Stiles' WILF of choice, Stiles finds himself alone with Derek a lot more than usual. Of course, everything ends up in a mess of miscommunication and a walk of shame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Serious Study in WILFs

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently this is what happens when [creampuffer](http://archiveofourown.org/users/creampuffer/) asks for WILF fic and [donnersun](http://archiveofourown.org/users/donnersun) tweets me [this](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lzlo8crefA1r6eh8vo1_500.jpg) pic. This is unbetaed, because it falls in the category of “Too Ridiculous to Bother [OnTheTurningAway](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ontheturningaway) With.” IDK, IDK.

It was Lydia's fault, really. Stiles was more than happy to blame her for all of it. 

She was the one who had a horrible habit of wanting to fuck everything that howled at the moon. 

“I can't go back to human men.” She said out of the blue, as she and Stiles were sitting in her dorm room, a single, drinking their way through a celebratory bottle of Bacardi after surviving their first year at Berkeley.

Stiles choked a little before recovering enough to ask, “How is it different?” 

“Oh you know.” She waved her hand.

“No. No, I absolutely do not know.” Stiles was no longer a virgin, thank you very much, Danny Mahealani, but the extent of his sexual experience was a handful of fumbling encounters with fellow college freshmen, none of them of the lycanthrope variety.

“I thought you and Cora hooked up last summer.”

“Me and Cora? No way. She scares me more than you do.”

“That's part of the fun. It's primal. A little bit dangerous. Knowing they could hurt you, and they have to fight their raw, animal instinct not to just devour you. And that pure sexuality makes you tap into your own base instincts.”

Stiles had to shift to accommodate his burgeoning boner. 

“I hate you.”

“No you don't.”

“Yes I do. I hate that you are having kinky werewolf sex with all the werewolves of Berkeley, London, _and_ Beacon Hills.”

“Not all of them. I have standards, Stiles.”

“Aiden?”

“You're just mad that Ethan turned you down after he found out you and Danny hooked up.”

“I never really wanted Ethan. I was just trying to, well, never mind.” 

Lydia looked at him curiously, so Stiles stared studiously into his cup. His brief flirtation with Ethan was only to incite jealousy. Not that it worked.

“So who is your WILF then?” Lydia sounded bored, like she already knew the answer to the question. 

“My what?”

“Werewolf I'd Like to Fuck. Keep up, Stiles.”

“Oh my god.” Stiles giggled, a manly giggle. “That's perfect. Lydia, you're a genius.”

“Of course I am.”

Stiles refilled his cup, thinking of all the things he could convince Scott that WILF meant.

The conversation turned to other topics as they kept drinking, and Stiles had almost forgotten about Lydia's question. But rum had a way of turning his mind in circles and about three quarters of the way into the bottle, he remembered what Lydia had asked.

“Derek,” Stiles blurted out, rolling his head over to the side to look at Lydia who was still sitting primly beside him. “Derek's my WILF.”

“Oh, that explains so much.” Lydia, who wasn't nearly as drunk as Stiles, sounded far too amused. Damn her and her liver.

“Yup. He's my number one WILF.” Stiles hiccuped. “Don't you dare tell anyone that.”

“How long have you wanted to fuck Derek?”

“For forever,” Stiles admitted, taking another swig of his rum and Coke.

Lydia didn't say anything. 

“What? Why are you so quiet all of a sudden? Or is it all of _the_ sudden? What the hell is a 'sudden' anyway.”

“You could have him, you know.”

“Who? Derek? Are you drunk? Derek has been avoiding me ever since Deaton started training me to be Scott's emissary.”

“And you didn't think for a second that maybe he was jealous of that arrangement?”

“I watched you fuck your way through Jackson and Aiden and that fucked up two weeks when you and Isaac tried going out before I got over you. I know what jealousy looks like. It's green. And pointy. With big teeth. Derek was not jealous. Trust me.”

“Boys are so dumb,” Lydia muttered.

The next morning, Stiles woke up on Lydia's futon with a throbbing headache, the taste of a gym sock in his mouth, and vague memories of confessing his epic, but very, very secret, crush on Derek to her.

He didn't have time to dwell on it, though, because he had to pack up his own dorm room. Scott was coming down to take him back to Beacon Hills for the summer. He still hadn't found another car to replace his beloved Jeep after the troll incident. The goal was to do enough clerical work at the police station over the summer to earn enough to buy a replacement, but the force was doing some kind of internal review that week, so his dad granted him seven days of freedom before he became a working man. 

The next day, he went over with Scott to see the renovations to the Hale house. The city had threatened to condemn it, so Derek finally decided to do something with it, and from the pictures Stiles had seen, it was nearly finished. When they got there, Derek was chopping wood. Honest to god chopping wood. With an ax. Shirtless. He looked like the coverboy for Lumberjack Quarterly. 

“WILF,” Stiles muttered under his breath as he climbed out of the car.

Derek looked up. From the front porch, Peter snickered. Stupid supernatural hearing. 

“What was that?” Derek called.

“Nothing, nothing,” Peter hopped off the porch. “Stiles here was just expressing his sexual frustration.”

“Do you have to be such a creeper? This is why you're _so_ not a WILF,” Stiles hissed.

“You know I can tell when you're lying.”

Stiles flushed. Okay, so maybe Peter was kind of hot, in a Ted Bundy, don't-get-in-the-van kind of way.

Derek came over with a towel draped over his shoulders, doing nothing to stop the drops of sweat from trailing down his chest. He shook Scott's hand and then Stiles', who tried to look at Derek's eyes instead of his body.

“So what is a WILF?” 

Peter winked at Stiles. “I think we need to talk paint samples again. You can play with your toys later.” He put his arm around Derek's shoulders and led him into the house.

Scott and Stiles went to go find Isaac.

“Werewolf I'd Like to Fuck?” Isaac cracked up after Stiles finally explained the exchange with Peter that Isaac, of course, had also overheard. “So what about me? Am I a WILF, Stiles?”

“No! That'd be like calling Scott a WILF.”

“Hey! I'm totally a WILF.”

“Is anyone ever going to tell me what a WILF is?” Derek called up the stairs.

So that was how the next week went. 

Everyone teased Stiles about calling Derek a WILF while studiously not telling Derek what WILF meant. And that would have been fine, except they also forced Stiles into awkward situations where he and Derek were left alone together. 

Stiles was starting to hate his pack. He was supposed to be the emissary, dammit.

And now here he was, lying naked in Derek's bed after having been fucked to within an inch of his life.

And he felt awful. 

The sex itself had been fantastic. Stiles didn't think he'd like being dominated, he was more of a give-and-take kind of guy, but Derek was just so powerful. Stiles couldn't complain about being manhandled when Derek seemed totally and single-mindedly focused on thoroughly fucking Stiles. 

But when Stiles thought back to what Derek said before and after—not so much during, there was mostly growling and grunting during—he knew he had totally fucked up. 

The rest of the pack had dispersed with excuses earlier that evening. Lydia had to spend time with her sister, Scott and Allison both had to work, Isaac was going hunting with Chris Argent, even Peter had disappeared to his lair, or his apartment downtown. Same thing.

So it was Derek and Stiles, slumped on Derek's sofa in the newly painted living room watching a Hoarders marathon when Stiles finally told Derek what WILF meant. 

Derek's reaction hadn't been what Stiles expected. Instead of finding it funny, his face went blank. 

“Werewolf I'd Like to Fuck?” 

“Yeah, you know, like a Mom or Dad I'd Like to Fuck. MILF? DILF? Not ringing a bell?”

“If I had known what those meant, I would have figured out WILF.”

His expression took on the patented Derek stone-face. Stiles didn't know what to say. He thought they'd just laugh about it and move on. Apparently not.

“So you want to fuck a werewolf?” Derek finally said.

Stiles blushed. “Well, yeah. I've heard Lydia and Danny and Allison go on and on about it. It's like they're in this club that I'm not a part of. Plus, being an emissary, it's sort of something I should know.” 

He didn't bring up Jennifer and Kali. It was one of the many sensitive issues he never brought up with Derek, along with Jackson, Erica, Boyd, Paige, Kate, Derek's family, Derek's childhood, and Derek's running away with his tail between his legs. Basically all of Derek's life experiences were off the table. Hence the Hoarders marathon.

“Okay,” Derek responded blankly.

“Okay what?”

And then Derek was on top of him. 

Everything after that was a little fuzzy, although the ache that was starting to grow in Stiles' body was helping him remember—being slung over Derek's shoulder and carried up to his room, Derek clawing at his clothes, literally, Derek rimming him until was practically in tears, and then getting fucked so hard into the mattress he thought the newly rebuilt house was going to fall apart for a second time. Stiles had come twice. Twice. He thought only girls could do that, but apparently Derek's werecock was magic. 

He remembered saying something like that as he lay sweaty and panting beside Derek afterward.

“Well, now you don't have to feel left out,” Derek had replied coldly.

And then he rolled over away from Stiles and passed out.

Stiles had really, really fucked up. 

He couldn't handle the angsty waves coming off Derek's sleeping body, so he slid out of bed. He fumbled in the dark until he found his black boxerbriefs from where they had been tossed aside in a rush to get Derek's cock in his ass. He put them on and gathered up the rest of his clothes.

He tiptoed out of the room and padded down the hall, slipping into Isaac's room. 

“Move over,” he hissed, as he climbed onto the bed.

“Stiles?”

“Move over. I'm tired. It's too late to call Scott for a ride.”

“We're sleeping head to toe.”

“Fine.”

So Stiles spent the rest of the night with Isaac's feet in his face. 

As soon as the first hint of light made itself known through the window, Stiles rolled out of bed, kicking Isaac in the face not-so-accidentally. Isaac just grumbled and rolled over.

Stiles got dressed in a rush and then went down the stairs. It wasn't that long of a walk home from the Hale property. A few miles would surely prevent him from having a complete meltdown thinking about what had happened the night before. But, of course, Stiles ran into the object of said meltdown at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Shit! You scared me! What the fuck are you doing? It's five in the morning.”

“I was going for a run.”

“You realize you're a werewolf, right. You're, like, preturnaturally in shape.”

“Yes, I know I'm an animal, Stiles.” Then he muttered, “you made that abundantly clear.”

“Hey! What does that mean?”

Derek shrugged. “You got what you wanted. You fucked a werewolf.”

“What are you even-”

“You can check it off your list or whatever.”

Derek tried to brush past Stiles, but Stiles reached out and grabbed his arm. Luckily with Deaton's training, he was able to mutter a spell that made Derek freeze in his tracks. 

“What the hell, Derek? Do you think I have a personal supernatural sex challenge or something? Druids, banshees, werewolves, I just have to fuck them all!”

“I have no idea what you're into! You've been away for an entire year. You could be fucking your way through a coven of witches for all I know.”

“But that would defeat the purpose of the challenge. Unless there are different types of witches. Are there different types of witches?”

“You mean other than good witches and wicked witches?”

“Did you just make a joke? _Now_ you have a sense of humor? That would have been helpful last night. Then you would have realized that the whole WILF thing wasn't serious.”

“What, so now you're saying I forced myself on you?”

“Oh my god.” Stiles started banging his head against the front door.

“What are you doing? Stop that.”

“Why do I even like you so much?”

“Wait. What?” 

Stiles, with his hand still on Derek's arm, could feel Derek's pulse pick up under his skin. Then he sort of lost it.

“You're ridiculous! I mean, I totally get why you always victimize yourself. You've been dealt the shittiest hand of shitty hands, but I've spent every waking hour at your house since I got back. I brought you all the way back from New York last year. Why do you think I'm always trying to be around you? But you get ideas in your head and then you refuse to see an alternative. Can't you be a little more flexible?”

Stiles could tell the exact moment it all sunk in.

Derek licked his lips. “I can be very flexible.”

“Fuck.”

“You really like me?”

“Yes, you asshole. I've had a crush on you for years. Yes, I wanted to fuck a werewolf, but it was a _particular_ werewolf. _This_ particular werewolf.” He poked Derek in the chest as he said it, just to make sure it was abundantly clear. 

And that's how Isaac found Derek fucking Stiles up against the front door ten minutes later.


End file.
